


A Thousand Worlds Away

by stephtron312



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, F/F, F/M, Female/Male Relationships, Femslash, collection of oneshots, multi-ship, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And even if we met in a thousand different ways, it'd still be our love conquering all.</p><p>A series of AU one-shots featuring different ships involving Carol Peletier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caronne (Carol/Michonne)

**Author's Note:**

> Looking to stretch my writing fingers, and have a side project while I’m stuck on all my other WIPs, I’ve started this little thing. Each chapter will be a one-shot AU (mostly non-ZA) of various lengths featuring a different ship (although they pretty much will either be Carol or Michonne related). They are not connected to each other (unless stated otherwise) and I’ll have each pairing posted at the beginning of each chapter so if it’s a NOTP you can just skip! All the prompts I have gotten off of tumblr in the au prompts tag, so if you see something of yours and would like credit just let me know!

AU 1: **Caronne (Carol/Michonne)**

_Stangers ending up in the same side in a bar-fight_

* * *

 

Carol always forgot just how much she hated this bar until she was dragged inside. For the second weekend in a row Andrea and Lori had begged her to engage in “Girls Night” with them, which meant standing around the always too crowded Billie’s, while some ogre tried his hand at charming one of them. She never understood why Girls Night couldn’t be sitting in their sweatpants on her nice comfy couch, sipping on their own individual bottles of wine and laughing at horribly cheesy Nicholas Sparks’ movies.

Jostled by the staggering drunks that tried to get past her, Carol clenched her hands into a ball.

“C’mon Carol, relax!” Andrea urged her, seeing the tension rising in her friend’s shoulder.

“If one more of them runs their sweaty bodies against mine while they try to pound down their fifth PBR I’m going to explode,” she said between gritted teeth.

Lori gave her a sympathetic smile, and trying to placate both ladies at once conceded, “It is a bit packed tonight. I’ve got at least another hour before Rick starts calling to nag me back home. We can try to hit up O’Reilly’s.”

Andrea rolled her eyes, “Just give it a few minutes, it’ll die down.” At that moment a man, with hair cropped so short he may have been bald, knocked backwards into Andrea. Her half drank martini went sloshing in its unstable glass, drenching Carol’s shirt in the sticky liquid.

“Oh,” the man turned, giving Andrea a long once over, “I am _sorry_ , blondie. Didn’t see you there.” His lips curled into a crude smile as his scratchy drawl grated down Carol’s spine. “Mind if I get you another?” he scrunched his lips up and blew a trifling kiss at her. Andrea groaned, rolling her eyes. She turned her back to him, grimacing at the wet spot soaking into Carol’s shirt.

“Hey!” the man yelled, “Ain’t nobody ignores ol’ Merle!” He grabbed her around the shoulder, trying to force Andrea to turn back around. Fiercely, Carol crossed in front of her friend, urging the younger woman behind her.

“You take your hands off her!” Carol stood defiantly.

He had the audacity to laugh at her, sucking his teeth as he took in her small frame, “What you gonna do about it? What are you her girlfriend? Couple of _lesbians_?” A sickening grin spread across his thin lips as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Carol shook her head in disgust, turning back to Andrea, “C’mon, let’s go.” She started to push Andrea towards the door, but Merle’s hand gripped her upper arm, hauling her back.

“Ain’t done with you yet, blondie,” he sneered at her, enjoying the way she squirmed in his reach.

“Causing more trouble than you’re worth, Dixon?” the voice came from Carol’s right, and she leaned to get a glimpse of the woman standing behind Merle. Tall, with long dreads whirling around her face, the woman was beautiful and menacing. She cocked an eyebrow at the rough man.

“This ain’t your business Michonne, get on out.” Andrea hissed as the man’s grip around her arm grew tighter.

“Pretty girls that don’t need your grubby hands on them are always my business,” Michonne’s voice was cool and collected like she didn’t have a worry in the world. She looked over at Carol, smiling and winking before turning her eyes back to Merle.

Merle answered with a growl, apparently intent on hauling Andrea to some unknown dark corner of the bar. Seeing him start to walk off with her Carol panicked. “Hey!” she yelled and when he looked at her, vigorously rolling his eyes, Carol reeled back and punched him in the nose as hard as she could. The contact sprang into Carol’s fist and it started to throb. She held her hand, trying to shake out the discomfort. Merle looked as shocked as Carol felt, but she had succeeded in getting him to lose his grip on Andrea. The blonde scrambled back to Lori, who was gaping at Carol.

“Shit,” Carol muttered but her pain scattered off when she saw the murderous look in Merle’s eyes.

“You little bitch,” he bit, touching his nose gingerly. He started for her, but Michonne stepped in, shoving the man sideways. Carol, who didn’t want this stranger getting hurt for her, quickly jumped to her side and the two of them glared back at the man as his friends started to gather around.

“Five against two,” Michonne laughed, her voice low enough for just Carol to hear, “I like these odds. You any good in a fight?”

Carol stared back at her, “Guess we’ll find out.”

The men staggered forward, drunk and unsure if they should be fighting the two women, but Merle continued to bark orders at them. Their punches were thrown haphazardly and Carol found she could simply evade them with quick side steps and they’d fall down of their own accord. Michonne had clocked one of them between the eyes, but the next man had gripped her in a tight arm lock. She grunted in pain and Carol whipped towards him, kicking at his shin and making sure to drive the high heel of her boot into him. He screeched and let go of Michonne, limping back towards Merle and the others.

“That’s enough,” the bartender yelled, pointing for the men to get out. Heads hung low and grumbling excuses for their losing the fight they hurried out in an undignified huddle.

“That was…” Lori approached her friend and her fighting partner, struggling to find the words.

“Amazing!” Andrea finished for her, throwing her arms gratefully around Carol.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, turning to Michonne and hugging her as well.

The woman chuckled, disentangling herself from Andrea’s arms. Andrea and Lori turned away, chatting excitedly to themselves as they recounted the fight to each other as if they hadn’t both witnessed it.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Carol said, after finally catching her breath.

“It’s no problem. Merle and his cronies think every woman who isn’t interested in them must be a lesbian, and then they become ten times more interested,” Michonne sighed.

“Well, maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong,” Carol smiled at her, her eyebrows raised as she held a hand out, “I’m Carol, by the way.”

Michonne matched the woman’s grin, taking in how soft Carol’s skin felt as she slid her hand into hers, “Michonne. Mind if I buy you a drink, since you’ve seemed to have lost yours on that shirt?”

She looked down at herself, running her hand over the spot that was now clinging to her body. “Oh this was actually Andr—” Carol stopped herself, catching Lori and Andrea’s vigorous head shakes in the corner of her eye. Looking back up at Michonne and finding something catch in her chest at the woman’s amused smirk, Carol straightened herself out a bit before replying coolly, “Sure. If you’re offering.”

“I am,” Michonne let the smirk grow into a genuine smile, her hand brushing against Carol’s forearm as she left her to get closer to the bar. Carol felt a sizzle linger at the trail Michonne’s fingers had made. She glanced over to her friends, who were smiling smugly.

Michonne wiggled her way back through the crowd, holding up two cups of bright blue liquid, “Bartender said it was on the house for getting rid of Dixon.” Her voice lilted over the increasing chatter of the crowded bar and Carol could barely hold down the giggle that rose from her belly. She wasn’t one to click with strangers, certainly not in bars, but there was something enticing about Michonne that Carol wanted to drink up until she was full with the warm feeling that was slowly spreading throughout her.

They joined Lori and Andrea, glancing surreptitiously at each other over the rims of their drinks as they sipped slowly.

“Do you live close by Michonne?” Andrea asked while Lori rolled her eyes at her cellphone that was blinking from notifications faster than a strobe light.

Michonne nodded, “I’m over by Winn Street, not too far from Goose Pond.”

“Wow, that’s crazy!” Andrea said a little more dramatically than she needed to, “Carol lives right by Goose Pond!”

“Oh? You do?”

Carol rolled her eyes, holding in a groan as her face flushed from Andrea’s painful obviousness, “Yeah, on the East side. It’s maybe twenty minutes from here.”

“The houses over there are beautiful,” Michonne smiled, her gaze flowing over Carol in a way that made her buzz from more than just the alcohol.

“Well that was Rick’s third text message. If I don’t get out of here now, the voicemails will start and I just do not have the patience for that,” Lori said, muttering as she crammed her phone back into her pocketbook. Andrea took her queue, slugging the last drop of her drink back in a hurried slurp. Eyes were on Carol as she looked down into her drink, her mouth quirking into a pursed line.

Michonne cleared her throat with a small cough, “I could drive you home…I mean if you wanted to stay out longer I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Sounds like a plan to me!” Andrea jumped in, already gathering her things together and looping her arm through Lori’s. She leaned in for a hug, whispering into Carol’s ear to have fun and let her know when she got home. Lori gave her a kiss on the cheek, waving goodbye to Michonne.

“Give Rick and the kids a kiss for me!” Carol called after her friends, but they disappeared into the crowd. The two women gazed at each other, both knowing where the night was likely heading and taking long, calculated sips of their blue cocktail.

After a good half hour of story-telling, Michonne having plenty of ridiculous tales about the art community since she was a curator at a local gallery, the two decided that it was about time to call it in. Michonne took Carol’s empty glass to the bar, her own still half full, and then met her at the door. They stepped out and Michonne guided Carol over to her car, a colorful Volkswagen Beetle. Carol hopped in excitedly.

“I’ve always loved these cars!” she said louder than she meant to, the chatter of the bar still making her ears buzz.

Michonne laughed, starting the car and pulling out towards Goose Pond. When she got to the house under Carol’s careful instruction, Michonne got out to walk her to the door. It was a modest two story situation, a delicate porch with a wicker swing and too many overflowing flower pots. It was homey and quaint and Michonne felt oddly comfortable standing in front of the blue door.

Fumbling with her keys Carol tried to understand why they were both stalling. There was no reason for Michonne to be lingering on her stoop and certainly no reason that Carol hadn’t opened her door yet. She looked up at Michonne, her warm eyes low and searching beneath the dim porch light. Without so much as a real thought, Carol pushed forward, smashing her lips against Michonne’s. She felt Michonne’s hands—slender and strong—push against her waist and back her into the door. Squashed against the cool frame, Carol couldn’t get enough of her. Her hands roamed generously beneath the tight tank top and leather vest that Michonne wore, warming her fingers against Michonne’s tight stomach. Carol stopped herself before she progressed further, nipping at Michonne’s bottom lip before she pulled back with a breathy sigh.

“Tomorrow?” Carol asked, out of breathe and not even caring at the hint of yearning her voice held.

Michonne smiled, leaning in to give Carol a long, lingering kiss. “Absolutely.” She turned quickly, hopping off the steps and scuffing the toe of her boots against the paved walkway. Michonne turned back to the grey haired pixie that stayed leaning against the doorway, her keys clutched tight against her pounding heart.

“Six o’clock good? There’s an Italian place not too far from here,” Michonne suggested, biting her lip to keep the overzealous smile that poked at the corners of her mouth from spilling forward.

“Perfect,” Carol smiled back, making no moves to hide the glee and heaving breathes from her. They stalled again, both shifting with uncertainty until Michonne waved and forced herself back to her car, thinking that maybe tomorrow night she’d make it passed the door.


	2. Sharol (Shane/Carol)

AU 2: **Sharol (Carol/Shane) slight Carick**

_My roommate is too sick to pick you up from the airport in the middle of the night like he said he would_

* * *

 

“What does she look like, man?” Shane said into the phone as he made his third slow circle around the arrival lot.

“She’s got short grey hair,” Rick’s hoarse voice trembled as he began his upheaval again. Shane waited, his eyes scanning the crowd until Rick coughed on the other end of the phone, “It’s kind of curly. She’s not that much shorter than me. Blue eyes.”

“Ah, I don’t know man. I don’t see any grey haired blue eyed chick,” he cursed as he made it to the end of the walk. He sped up as he took the loop that would lead his car back to the beginning of the arrivals station yet again.

“She’s got these boots,” Rick said between coughs, “They’re black with buckles and—” he was interrupted by the familiar sound of spillage hitting the toilet.

“Got it,” Shane hung up the phone, spying the black boots that led up to a grey haired, blue eyed beauty. Rick forgot to mention that last part. He slammed the brakes, the car halting so abruptly in front of her that it gave her a jolt.

He rolled the window down, leaning over the middle console, “Carol?”

She looked at him under a scrutinizing gaze, taking in his sharp appearance and the sleek SUV he drove.

“What happened to Rick?” she asked curtly, opening the back door and tossing in her dark green duffle bag.

Shane couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face. He liked this woman, she called no bullshit.

“He’s sick. Poor guy’s head hasn’t left the toilet since he woke up this morning,” he chuckled at his friend’s unfortunate expense.

She slid into the passenger seat with a smirk, her eyes sweeping over him in a slow trail. He had never seen eyes quite her color, an intriguing blue that felt like a cool pool of water that he wanted to dive into. Her grey hair, short and curled at the nape of her neck and her temple, only further highlighted her eyes as they stood out against her pale skin. He had a thing for necks and hers was long and lean, hypnotizing him as she turned her head to meet his wandering eyes.

“You going to put the car in drive or we staying here all night?” she teased, a glint stealing away before she flicked her gaze back towards the front window.

It took them another eight minutes to get out of the airport as Shane got turned around and lost three times, each wrong turn earning a giggle from Carol that she tried to reign in behind her cupped hand. Finally they found their way to the highway and Carol cheered enthusiastically.

“I don’t have any fancy GPS or nothing so you’re going to have to tell me how to get to your house,’ Shane said.

“Sure,” she said in a tired little lilt as she fought away a yawn, “But you’ll have to tell me your name first.”

“Oh shit, I’m a fucking idiot,” he cursed, “Shane Walsh. I’m Rick’s roommate.” He looked over at her for just a second, with a closed lipped grin and his hand extending across his body to her. She shook it lightly, her fingers soft and warm in his. “You mean to tell me you got into a car with a stranger just because I stopped in front of you?”

Carol scoffed, feigning insult, “You said my name!”

Shaking his head, his eyebrows arching as his smile grew, “Could’ve been a good guess, or maybe I saw your luggage tag.”

“Huh,” Carol nodded thoughtfully, “Good point. Rick managing to text me when I landed might have helped too.” From his peripheral he could see her smiling slyly at him, her eyes gleaming under low lids.

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Yeah,” she giggled, “He did. But your theories were good too. I bet you catch _all_ the criminals.”

Shane shook his head, laughing, “How much did that asshole text you? Man could barely spit out two words before I left.”

“He’s told me about you before. Plenty of stories about his partner to pass the time while we wait for the kids to settle.”

Rick, who was now a single father after losing his wife in a car accident eight months prior, often left Carl with Carol after school until his beat was over. She had also been the emergency sitter when the station called in the dead of night. Carl and Carol’s daughter, Sophia, were in the same class and fast friends once their parents started getting closer. Carol was recently divorced, so she and Rick connected through the throes of single parenthood, helping each other as best they could.

“That doesn’t sound good at all. I hope he’s never told you the bouncy house one,” Shane ran a hand through his curled hair.

Carol balked, her laugh full and easy, “He especially enjoys telling the bouncy house one.”

“Well damn, there goes my chances,” he said wistfully, hiding the hint of longing behind another chuckle.

“Chances of what?” she returned huskily, her eyes like steam as they lingered on him.

He met her gaze, before quickly returning his eyes to the road as they exited the highway. He sucked at his teeth, a knowing half sigh that lilted into a laugh escaping. Her lips pursed restraining against a smile that threatened to pry them apart.

“It’s really nice what you did for them,” she said as they sat at a red light, easing the quiet tension that settled somewhere between them.

“It was the best I could do,” Shane shrugged. When Lori had died, Rick was distraught, and could barely manage to keep himself together. His home became a mausoleum, every corner reminding him of his dead wife, and even worse the half-finished nursery a haunting reminder of the baby he had lost with her. Shane couldn’t stand seeing him dragging in the half state he was living, edging closer to a psychotic break with every passing day. He insisted Rick and Carl move in with him. A bachelor with a large three bedroom house, much more space than he ever needed, the move was supposed to be temporary until Rick could find a new home for him and his son.

“I know it’s been a few months,” Shane continued, “And it isn’t supposed to last long but now I can’t imagine the place without them. Especially not Carl—now don’t you go repeating this, but I like having the kid around.”

Carol smiled at him with such tenderness that he thought for a fleeting second that she might reach out and touch him, but she stayed plastered to her seat, drinking him in with an ever softening look, “I won’t say a word.”

After directing him down a few twists and turns in the quiet suburban neighborhood not too far from where he and the Grimes’ lived, Carol asked, “Where’s Carl tonight then? If Rick’s sick?”

“His grandmother’s.”

“Oh, this is it!” she pointed at the modest ranch style house with light yellow shutters and bright flowerbeds in front of a small porch. Shane stopped the car, looking at Carol expectantly but of what he wasn’t sure. There was a pause before she unbuckled, and another before she opened the door, slowly and tantalizing. Shane jumped out of the driver’s side, determined to spend any extra few seconds he could with her. It was those eyes and that neck and the scooping dip of her tank top, or it was her smile and her laugh and the inarguable flirting behind every click of her tongue. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it. He wretched open the back door, grabbing her duffle bag before she could, and she smiled at him through the window. They walked to her front door, her keys hanging loosely in her hand and him carrying the luggage easily over his shoulder.

“You know,” she said quietly, “Rick is probably asleep by now. He would have texted me if he wasn’t, just to make sure I got home. And you shouldn’t really be cooped up with him if he’s got a bug or you’ll get it too.”

“You suggesting something, Carol?”

She mirrored his smirk, sliding the key into the lock slowly. “I don’t have to get my daughter from her friend’s until the morning,” she left the door hanging open as she entered the house.

Shane bit his lip, trying to suppress a smile as he nervously ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure where Rick stood with this woman, or how exactly he’d feel about what was about to transpire, but for the night Shane could care less. He followed her across the threshold, the door closing with a strong thud.


	3. Tarol (Tara/Carol)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely Liddym2113, Tara and Carol enthusiast! (Hope you like it love!)

AU 3: **Tarol (Tara/Carol)**

_Tried to get the candy bar that didn’t drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck can you help me out AU_

* * *

 

That Snickers bar had been taunting her all morning. _Tara_ , it whispered, the sweet chocolate calling out to her while she attempted to study the stack of books in front of her. She had thought that coming to the public library would have been easier to study for the academy exam without her adorable niece distracting her with that little lisp of hers while she begged to play another round of checkers. Yet, it turned out that even the library had its temptations.

She felt around her purse haphazardly, hoping to find a crinkled bill to stick into that godforsaken machine. Pulling out two ones she raced to the machine and shoved them in. It took her three attempts to get it to accept the dollars. She punched in the appropriate number, accenting each dig of her finger with a curse beneath her breath. The silver coil unrolled, letting the Snickers free—until it caught. Teetering halfway between the shelf and falling through the air, Tara leaned her head against the cool glass in defeat.

“ _No_ ,” she whispered to herself, stroking the glass that stood between her and the glorious chocolate covered nougat of her desire. She poked at the glass, hoping the tiniest seismic shift would loosen the candy bar and let it fall to freedom. She poked a little harder and a little harder until her hands were gripping the sides of the machine and she was shaking it back and forth on its pegs as quietly as she could manage.

Delighted she watched as the bar fell forward, only for it to bounce off, and land on top of, the bottom row that held all the gum. It tilted downwards pointing towards the bottom flap. Tara contemplated the new predicament. _Fuck it_ , she thought, getting down onto her knees and shoving her arm through the flap. She watched as the tips of her fingers poked up at the bottom of the glass, and she towards the candy. Stretching her fingers she felt the tantalizing plastic of the Snickers bar.  

With a flick of her index finger Tara nudged the bar enough for it drop down.

“Fuck yes!” she praised herself, not meaning to be so loud and cringing at the eyes that flicked towards her with quiet contempt.

She smiled awkwardly, but when she went to take her arm out from the flap to give them all a friendly wave (or finger—she hadn’t quite decided yet) her elbow wouldn’t budge. She jerked her arm over and over again, finding that all it did was squeeze her elbow tighter against the flap.

“No! _Nonononono!!!_ ” she whined, whimpering to herself as her forehead found its way against the glass once more. Her fingernails clawed pathetically at the machine as she shut her eyes, hoping everything would vanish and she’d be sitting in her little alcove with her chocolate when she opened them.

The unmistakable sound of stifled giggling caught her attention. Tara’s eyes whipped open and she looked up, intent on giving whatever asshole was laughing at her the angriest glare she could. Instead of narrowing, her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of slender legs and a lean body that led up to the face of an adorable pixie. That was the best way she could describe the woman standing in front of her, the sleeve of her cardigan pressed against her mouth to keep her laughing quiet.

“Are you okay?” her was voice exactly as she imagined, a soft tinkling lilted by that damn giggle.

Tara couldn’t help but smile, cocking her head towards her stuck arm. “Not exactly.”

“Can’t get your arm out?” The woman tilted her head, her bright blue eyes warming with concern.

She let her head drop down in defeat, whimpering her response.

“Alright, alright. No need to fret,” The woman knelt down, leveling with Tara and she could see the specks of those ridiculous eyes and the freckles that scattered across her skin, leading down her long neck to the dip of her tank top. She averted her eyes quickly, blushing as she noted just how low the shirt went. Fingers prodded around Tara’s elbows gently until the woman wrapped a hand around her arm.

“I’m going to pull, but you have to relax, okay?”

Tara nodded, biting her lip in preparation of what she was sure was going to be a painful experience. The woman stilled, her fingers massaging against her skin in a dizzying circle.

“What’s your name?”

“Tara,” she answered.

The woman smiled, “That’s a really pretty name, Tara.”

“Thanks,” she felt a little lost between the soothing circles and the tenderness that seeped through this woman’s expression, like she never said a word she didn’t mean. The blue of her eyes were calming and Tara couldn’t help but study them, trying to pinpoint where exactly she’d seen that shade before but deciding that nothing in the world could exist that was that luminous.

Suddenly, she felt a jerk and a twist. She gasped, but soon she was cradling her trapped arm against her chest. She looked down at the angry red marks above her elbow.

“I’m thinking candy is pretty dangerous for you,” The woman teased, her lips pursed together as she tapped the elusive Snickers bar against her nose. “How’s coffee sound?”

“Coffee?” Tara blinked, leaning closer to the woman as they both kneeled on the oddly patterned carpeting.

“My treat,” she smiled again, standing to her feet in one swift motion. She held her hand down for Tara and she accepted, letting her lift her up. Tara stumbled, her feet catching in the force of her pull, and she swayed towards her rescuer, bopping her head against hers in a light tap that caused them both to giggle.

The erupting laughter awarded them a few stares and one very pointed _shhhh_.

“Come on,” The woman whispered, still holding onto Tara’s hand as she tugged her forward. She followed her across the street to a small café, where she finally let go of her hand when they were ready to order. Tara felt a longing heat growing in her palm, and she shoved both her hands into her back pocket as the woman ordered and paid for their drinks. She motioned for Tara to find a table as she waited for the coffees.

She sat at a table in the corner, feeling tiny and unsure and kind of in a daydream. This was the kind of thing that happened on cheesy daytime shows, not to her. Beautiful women didn’t swoop down to her rescue her from the traitorous jaws of a vending machine and then offer to buy her coffee. There had to be a catch. She didn’t even know her name and she was too shy to ask now, figuring she had missed that opportunity by a good fifteen minutes. It’d just be awkward to ask at this point.

She came over to the table Tara had settled into, her hips swaying in a way that only people who didn’t know the kind of power they held swayed.

“Here you go,” she slid the latte over to her, taking a sip of her own as she sat down.

Tara squinted at the markered name on the side. “Carol.”

“Yeah?” she answered, settling the coffee down. A thin coat of whipped cream sat on her top lip.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just, I didn’t get your name before…” Tara snorted when she finally looked up from her nervous rambling.

“You got a little…” She motioned towards her lip but Carol just looked utterly confused. She couldn’t help but laugh, the rumble soft and low as it escaped her. “Come here,” she leaned forward, wiping her finger across Carol’s lip.

Carol blushed, the pink tinting all the way down to that treacherously low tank top. “Well _that’s_ embarrassing.”

“Not as embarrassing as being outsmarted by a two dollar vending machine,” Tara admitted.

“True,” Carol said, her eyebrow raised as she grinned. “Maybe the vending machine was just giving me what I ordered.”

“Oh yeah?” Tara smirked, leaning into her elbows that were propped on top of the table. “Hope it wasn’t a Snickers bar.”

“Better,” she was grinning like a minx, all sly with no intention of being coy at all. Her teasing was refreshing and Tara felt like she could bat at this game all day long.

“Then what was it?”

“A beautiful woman and a quiet first date,” Carol’s fingers found their way to Tara’s arm, tracing the red mark that was already beginning to fade.

“This is a quiet date?” Tara asked in mock surprise, motioning around the overcrowded café, with its twangy folk music blasting from the speakers. Carol balked, laughing at her own ridiculous attempt at suaveness.

“You can let me try again tomorrow. Dinner? 5:00?” Her eyes blinked, the earnestness so wrenching that it took most of Tara’s control not to leap over the table and kiss her.

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow...I feel like something’s happening tomorrow,” Tara drew her hands across her face, watching as Carol’s expression faltered slightly but she still kept a steady smile.

“It’s okay, Tara. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, Carol, I want to!” she reached forward, grasping Carol’s retreating hand in her own. “I just…I swear I’m forgetting something important. Let me just look in my planner.” Tara reached down for her purse, feeling nothing but the air beneath her. Her eyebrows knitted together and she ducked down, seeing nothing but Carol’s leather boots underneath the table.

“Where in the hell…” she said to herself, trailing off. She realized, her face blushing, that she had left the library with Carol without so much as thinking about that stack of books or her purse. Jumping up quickly, she rushed forward.

“I have to go back to the library. I forgot _literally_ all my shit. But dinner sounds great! Not tomorrow though, the day after? I’ll meet you in front of the library?” she said all the words in one breath that sucked all the air from her lungs. Waiting for Carol’s reaction kept the little oxygen she had left caught in her throat.

Carol nodded, her face a mixture of confusion and utter amusement. “Sounds good.”

“Awesome,” Tara gave her a double thumbs up, before cursing beneath her breath and shoving her hands back into her pockets where they were safe from embarrassing her. She could feel the tightening tension of an awkward goodbye, and decided _fuck it_. Tara leaned in, leaving the lightest peck on Carol’s cheek before she bounded out of the café and ran across to the closing library.

Carol had no idea who this wicked girl, with her tiny ponytail and stirring looks, was but she had every intention of finding out.

 

 

 


	4. Carick (Carol/Rick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the always lovely wndrw8! This is probably the silliest thing I ever wrote

AU 4: **Carick (Carol/Rick) plus the smidgiest smidge of Caryl and Sharol**

_Charity date auction_

* * *

 

Shane flexed his way across the stage, sliding his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and winking at the crowd of women (and some men) that surged towards him. He was always the police forces highest win, going to the widowed Mrs. McLeod last year for nearly six hundred dollars. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his uniform and the bid jumped up from almost two hundred to nearly four.

The Charity Date Auction was a fundraiser for the town, where local businesses and municipals came together and volunteered their most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes to be bid on. The money all went to local government, covering things such as park projects, highway fixes, and library events. The group that had the most money contributed to them won a company barbecue at the park.

For the police force, Shane Walsh was their biggest draw. Their fiercest competition, naturally, was the firefighters, who liked to pretend that Daryl Dixon was a secret weapon, as if more than one small garbage can fire hadn’t been started in the hopes that he’d show up.  While Shane was hunky and flirtatious, Daryl had that quiet brooding down to an art and it dropped panties all over the room.

Finishing out the bid, Shane shook his way off the stage, snapping Daryl’s suspenders as he passed by. He jumped off the stage, winking and kissing the hand of some of the ladies that bid on him as he sauntered to the back of the room where Rick tried not to snort his whiskey straight up his nose.

“Six hundred and eighty five dollars. Let’s see Dixon beat that number!” Shane whistled, taking up the scotch that Rick had gotten for him and shooting it back in a clean swig.

“Who won?”

Shane’s eyes scrunched together before pointing at a slim blonde, her curly hair pulled half up. “That new hot shot lawyer that moved into town two…three months ago. Certainly going to be a better ride than ol’ McLeod.”

“You’re just jealous,” Rick nodded towards the stage, where Daryl fidgeted, picking at his fingers as if he thought the whole thing was beneath him. “Looks like Mrs. McLeod has switched her loyalties.”

“Seven hundred!” the little old woman shouted out, waving her bills in the air. Mayor Greene hit down the gavel, proclaiming her to be the winner. Daryl strolled off the stage, but Shane didn’t miss the smug smile he threw at him.

“Prick,” Shane muttered, taking Rick’s empty glass with his own and buying them another round.

“How’d you like that Walsh?” Daryl came up to them after a few minutes, a beer already half empty as he took another swig.

Shane rolled his eyes, his lips quirking up, “Yeah, yeah. You just wait till next year. I’m feeling a little winded from all the goddamn criminals I catch. Wasn’t on my top form.”

Daryl snorted, clapping them both on the back. “Right. When are you going to get up there, Grimes?”

“Oh, you don’t know about the time Rick got bid on?” Shane said, barely suppressing the laugh that sputtered out. “Two years ago Rick gave it a shot and all he got was a pity bid from his ex-wife. Poor woman thought she’d spent enough money on the divorce and here she is shelling out fifty dollars so Rick could wipe that pathetic look off his face.”

“ _Alright_ , he gets it,” Rick quipped, rolling away from the two hollering men.

“He’s strictly moral support now,” Shane added, leaning over to muss up Rick’s hair. He swatted the other man’s hand away, running his hand through the greying curls.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Well, that rounds out the firefighters,” the mayor said after a pretty black woman, Sasha, jumped off the stage. “Now we have our lovely librarian from Kings County Library. Carol Peletier, come on out.”

Rick could feel the tips of his ears burning red at just the sound of her name. He ignored the way Shane sucked his teeth, lips curling, as he gave Rick a knowing look. As stealth-like as Rick could be when they were dispatched to take down a perp, he was not at all able to hide his feelings for the seemingly mild-mannered librarian. He took Carl there every Saturday, still shuffling him towards the children’s section even if he was pushing into the double digits and could probably wander to other parts of the library. Rick would settle Carl in before searching out Carol, taking a vague interest in whatever shelf she was putting books back on. They’d make the usual small talk, but sometimes Carol’s wit would get the best of her and Rick wouldn’t be able to do anything but tilt his head and take her in. She was much more than she ever appeared to be.

The polite claps sounded as the woman, a paisley dress wrapped around her with a deep neckline exposing her long neck and collarbones, walked purposely to the center of the stage. She looked as if she’d rather get the thing over with, and Rick noticed the way she raised her eyes pointedly to Daryl, clearly exposing that she had a deal with him to bid on her and get her off the stage quickly. He automatically moved up to the stage, counting out the few bills he had. Clearly they weren’t planning on many people bidding on her.

Before Rick could even register what was happening, he and Shane had followed after the firefighter. Daryl glared back at them, looking up again to see Carol’s panicked expression.

“Twenty-five,” Daryl mumbled, eyeing the three men.

“Fifty,” Shane upped.

“Fifty-five,” Daryl shot a look at Shane.

“Sixty!” Shane retorted. Carol’s eyes shot to Daryl, pleading with him.

Rick shuffled through his bills, trying to count them as the other two kept upping the bid.

“Ninety!”

“Ninety-five!”

“Ninety-eight!”

“One hundred?” Rick croaked, pulling his money straight and looking up at the stage. Daryl cursed under his breath, as he had run out of money to bid and looked up to her apologetically.

After being declared the winner, Rick’s eyes met Carol’s and he was taken aback at the look of surprise that shone through them. Like she wasn’t sure what to think. He could feel a heat rising through him, suddenly wishing that he’d just stayed at the back of the room and not gotten involved like he planned on. Rick made a point to shoot a glance at Shane. He held his gaze before Shane nodded, folding the rest of his money and slinking back to their table.

Her heels clacked down the side stairs as she came off the stage. She paused where Daryl was, whispering quickly to him until he gave her a light squeeze on her bicep and left her to approach Rick on her own.

“Hi,” she said, a confused note in her voice.

“Sorry if I stole you away from Daryl, I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, not it’s okay. He was just being a good friend. We weren’t going to go on a real date, probably just drink beer and watch something dumb,” she gave him a small smile, easing her shoulders as she stood before him.

“Guess I gotta make better plans then,” he grinned at her, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He felt like a teenager who spent half the school day working up enough courage to talk to the pretty girl.

Carol shook her head, her lips pursed together, “Beer and something dumb is just fine.”

Rick smiled back at her, pausing for a second before asking, “Why’d you arrange for him to bid?”

“Oh,” Carol laughed, waving her hand in the air, “You know I never even come to this thing but nobody else could do it and I got cajoled into it. Anyway, I had heard about some poor guy who didn’t get any bids until his ex offered up a few dollars—”

“Does _everyone_ know about that?” he shook his head, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes.

Snorting, Carol tried to suppress her laugh, “That was you?”

“It was a slow night,” he retorted but the glinting lightness of her eyes that stared back at him amusedly stole all his bravado away.

“Well, I’m glad you bid, Rick,” she stepped closer to him, the tips of her fingers grazing against his forearm.

“So, when can you spare me a night?” he asked.

She looked around, biting her lip as a mischievous shadow flickered in her gaze, “Well I’m free tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

“Alright, I guess we could do that. I hadn’t really considered breakfast as an option,” Rick rambled, slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be taking her on some big overly romantic dinner.

“But I only like to eat breakfast in bed,” she stared up at him, her big, blue eyes widening with anticipation. Rick’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting in that signature way as he tried to piece together what exactly she was saying. It hit him like an anvil, a smile creeping across his features. She blushed, but still stared at him brazenly. Wasting not another second, Rick took her hand, leading her out of the town hall.

“Where you going?!” Shane yelled for him, watching as the pair beelined for the doors.

“I got a date,” Rick shouted back, absolutely beaming. He leaned into Carol quickly, kissing her cheek before ushering out the door. He was gone with a wink.


	5. Caryl (and Richonne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this forever ago for Lamport's bday and completely forgot to upload it!

 

AU 5: **Caryl (and Richonne!)**

_Soberly babysitting drunken friends at a party_

* * *

 

He was too old for this.

Watching all the bodies crammed into the tiny apartment, gyrating and bouncing against each other was enough to make him sweat even from the doorway that he had just walked in from. If it hadn’t been for the pathetic whine of his best friend’s voice over the phone when he called him earlier that evening he would never had even thought to come here.

But Rick had been crestfallen, as today would mark the first anniversary of his wedding day since his divorce. It hadn’t been a pretty sight that welcomed him when he finally arrived to the Sherriff’s home. It seemed he had already fished out an old bottle of Jack, the buttons of his uniform half undone and his hat perched precariously atop of his head, just barely covering his eyes. Stumbling around, Rick was just a sad drunken mess.

“You wanna party?” Daryl had asked him, one hand steadying him. “Then we’re not staying here and doin’ it. C’mon,” He made a quick cup of coffee from the Keurig, replacing the dwindling whiskey with the mug and telling Rick to drink up, shoving the man towards the bathroom.

“You can drink it and shower at the same time,” he yelled, tossing a t-shirt and pair of old reliable jeans at him, as he was confident in his assumption that being drunk in uniform was illegal. Rick closed the door and fifteen minutes later re-emerged with soppy wet curls and a slightly more sober gleam icing over his eyes.

“Better?” he moped at Daryl already searching to get his hands back on the liquor. Before he had the chance, Daryl was ushering him outside, grabbing Rick’s car keys along the way as there was no way he was letting him on the motorcycle. He could only imagine the conversation he’d have to have with Carl if his dad drunkenly slid off and scraped off half his skin.

In the amount of time it took Daryl to peel out of the driveway, Rick finally realized they were leaving.

“Where are we going? He asked, taking cautious sips of water from the bottle Daryl handed him on their way out.

“My old buddy Glenn is having a party. Think he got his master’s degree or somethin’, I don’t really know. Point is, there’s alcohol, and people. You won’t have to look like such a sad loser there,” he scoffed, adding as an after-thought, “Might even find a girl who’ll let you drool on her.”

“Doubt it,” Rick mumbled, spittle flying as he attempted to blow a raspberry but it only came out as a half pathetic dribbling ripple. “Can’t even get my wife of thirteen years to…to…”

“Hey,” Daryl softened, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezing, “Don’t you think about that tonight.”

And as far as he could tell, Rick wasn’t. They walked into the all too cramped living room, and Daryl had immediately lost Rick to the crowd. By the time he had turned his head to shut the front door behind him, Rick was gone, completely immersed into the horde. Daryl had to stand on tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of the curly haired cop, instead finding Glenn in the far corner, adding music to a playlist on his laptop. He nodded at the younger man, who whooped and hollered at seeing him, hurriedly rushing forward, dashing through the crowd around them like it wasn’t a big deal to move so deftly between the sticky bodies.

“So glad you could come, man!” Glenn enthused, giving him a one-armed hug.

“I brought Rick, but I already lost him,” Daryl explained, scanning the crowd again.

“He can’t have gone far,” Glenn said, a lilt to his already slurred words, “I’ve only got three rooms in this apartment!”

“Right,” Daryl smirked, and left Glenn after promising he’d come right back and meet his girlfriend. He began to dredge through the crowd, towards the small kitchenette, hoping that that’s where he’d find the alcohol and Rick.

***

“Fuck him though, you know?”

“That’s what I was trying to do!” Michonne’s arms flew up into the air dramatically, a splash of bright red falling to the ground from her plastic cup. Carol held in a laugh, gently pulling Michonne’s arm back down to keep the rest of the liquid from covering the linoleum flooring.

“But did you really want to?” Carol pressed, grabbing a napkin and handing it to her best friend to wipe off the sticky remnants that dripped onto her arm.

Michonne had endured a bad string of dates over the past few weeks and before deciding to give up on the dating world entirely, Carol had persuaded her to come along to her work friend’s boyfriend’s party. She owed it to Maggie, and if anyone could have fun at an event like this it was Michonne who was usually bright eyed and running circles around the beer pong table to every over-entitled man’s dismay.

Except that the night before the man she had met, through whichever new dating app was popular that week, had stood her up. She had waited for twenty minutes at the ice cream parlor, all adorable and primped. He never showed, and she ended up buying two cups of ice cream, intent on bringing one to Carol’s place but instead ate both on the drive home.

 “I called him a dick, ‘cause that’s what he is. You know that red hair isn’t natural, he dyes that shit,” Michonne lamented, kicking back another gulp of punch. She brought the cup away from her lips when it was empty, wavering just a step as she searched for the ladle to scoop out another.

For Michonne, tonight was her last fuck you to the world and she was going to get as drunk as she could healthily manage. Which gave Carol quite the responsibility to make sure she didn’t die or do anything extraordinarily embarrassing that would haunt her every dreams.

“Easy there, slugger. Why don’t we take a ten minute break okay?” Carol wrestled the ladle from Michonne’s grip, pushing her towards the kitchen chair. She slumped into it as the grey haired woman stood on her tip toes to fish out some crackers from the cabinet.

“There’s just not any good men left,” Michonne grumbled, flicking an abandoned bottle cap across the table.

“Amen,” Carol affirmed, hoisting one knee onto the counter top to get herself closer to the box that was just out of reach of her fingertips. With her one foot still on the ground she propelled herself upwards, but only managed to knock the box back further.

Grumbling, she tried a second time, with no success. She gripped her fingers onto the edge of the sink, balancing on her one hoisted knee until she could manage to get the other one up as well. Now kneeling completely on the kitchen counter, she straightened up and grabbed the box easily.

Climbing back down off the counter, a huge smile of pride on her face, Carol turned to where Michonne had been sitting, the exclamation of “ _Got it_!” falling quietly off her lips. The chair was completely empty.

What Carol had neglected to notice as she triumphed her climb around the kitchen was that handsome man, in dampened curls had appeared in the doorway, and entranced Michonne so immediately that she had trampled after him into the crowded living room.

Carol took a moment to hold her eyes shut, let the frustrated scream die in her throat. She tossed the crackers back onto the counter and started her fight through the living room.

***

Somehow the crowd seemed to have doubled in the short half hour that Daryl had been there. Glenn had put on some form of electronic bass heavy music that made half the room wiggle and convulse uncontrollably as he pushed through them, growling at anyone who dared try to pull him into the dancing center.

He was swerving out of the way of one such over-eager guy with a mullet whose flailing arms almost hit him in the face when he bumped directly into someone.

“Sorry, I’m just looking for my friend.”

They had both muttered it in the same exasperated tone of someone who wanted nothing more than to give up. It took a second for him to focus on the body in front of him, taking in the wisps of grey hair that stuck out first, his eyes then falling on the sweetly angled pixie face in front of him. For the first time since he arrived at the party, a hushed quiet fell around them and he felt oddly peaceful.

She laughed, and it completely broke him of the stunned way he had been staring at her. He thanked whatever higher power there was that the room was so damn hot and he could blame the inevitable blush of his cheeks on that.

“So you’ve lost a drunk person too?” She smiled at him, a wide, genuine one with sparkling teeth. There was a hint of relief to it, like maybe she wasn’t the worst person alive to have somehow lost sight of a grown adult.

“Fucker slipped away from me the minute we got in. Been spending this whole time looking for him,” he explained, a quick roll of his eyes and a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Something about this woman felt very easy.

“We could form a search party. Might have better chances,” she said, losing her footing at the jostling from a couple grinding close by.

Narrowing into a glare, he held an arm out in front of this woman, pushing the couple back. “Rude,” he muttered, but she barely looked phased.

“I’m going to check the back patio, want to come?” she shouted as the volume raised to a roar, some thrilling excitement at whatever song was blasting rumbling through the crowd.

 It was bringing up a headache in his already worn out brain, and Daryl nodded, knowing he’d take just about any excuse to leave the space they were in. He took her hand, too focused on his mission to get through to the sliding glass doors on the other side of the room to care about being brash.

Reaching the dead center of the crowd, they found themselves stuck. Carol, flushed completely against this stranger’s back, couldn’t help but admire the flex of muscled shoulders exposed by the tattered sleeveless shirt he wore.

Pulling her behind him, they barely made it to the back doors. Cold air whooshed at them as he slid the glass open, holding it back for her to step through first. She did with a thanks, taking in a deep gulp and letting it out ever so slowly. He let the door slide back quietly.

The slopping sounds of kisses reached Daryl’s ears and they immediately burned with a new blush. It was dark, and even with only the dim glow of a low-wattage outdoor light, he couldn’t see where the couple was.

“You don’t think our friends could be…you know?” Carol whispered, pressing her fingers in some kind of motion that was meant to look vulgar but rather resembled a pathetic attempt at shadow puppet rabbits.

“I definitely hope not,” he sighed, taking a step away from the house. He moved slowly towards the hidden couple, stilling when he heard the fervent ruffle of leaves beneath heavy bodies.

He cursed to himself, stuck between a want to see if that was Rick and never ever having the mental image of Rick’s sloppy kissing face.

“I’m Carol by the way,” her voice came from below him. Her legs outstretched in front of her, she was sitting on the small stones that encompassed the patio, head tilted up towards the sky.

He considered her for a minute, the way her dark lashes circled her eyes that were so big and twinkling like she was trying to swallow the stars in them. Without really thinking about it he plopped besides her, liking the way her nose scrunched as shifted over just a fraction. Pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, he figured now was as good a time as any, and stuck it between his lips.

“Daryl,’ he muttered as he lit it, a cloud of smoke bursting from his nostrils.

She smiled as she repeated it, and he never heard his name sound so graceful as when she said it. He was used to hearing it preceded by a curse, followed by another.

He waited for her to make the inevitable round of small talk, but nothing followed except silence. One that felt soft and safe, almost making him want to lay down completely and fall asleep. No one ever really made him feel completely safe, and certainly not a stranger, but there was something exceptional about this one. It was like she already knew him.

A rough creak whined from behind them, catching Daryl’s attention away from him. He looked back to see Glenn sticking his head out.

“There you are. I found Rick,” he gestured with a thumb to somewhere behind him, prompting Daryl to stand. He looked back towards Carol, instinctually holding his hand out to her to help her up but she was already walking ahead of him.

“Oh hey, Carol,” Glenn grinned at her, “See you’ve met Daryl.”

She grinned back, a noise of happy confirmation as her eyes darted back to him. He was starting to get tired of every movement from her making him blush.

“Pretty, huh?” is what he thinks Glenn whispers as Daryl follows her inside but he shakes the notion off of him. Pointing back towards the kitchen, Glenn left them to begin clearing up the mess in his living room. He hadn’t noticed until he was able to follow Carol easily through the room that so many people had left.  When he checked his phone, it seemed than almost two hours had gone since he arrived at the party and he wondered just how long he had been sitting outside with her, sharing their quiet and peace with each other.

“Michonne!” she shouted, stepping into the kitchen with her arms open wide.

The woman who she was now hugging was leaning against the kitchen counter, right next to where Rick was slumped onto the floor, head lolled to the side and a nice spot of drool forming on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Daryl squatted in front of the lifeless body, shaking a little roughly. “Hey!”

Rick groaned, head falling back and hitting the cabinet doors. He winced as Rick tried to rub the back of his head, missing and smacking his hand against Daryl’s instead.

“You okay, buddy?” Daryl said, trying too hard not to laugh.

“He’s fine,” Michonne said, eyebrows quirked up as she smirked. “He was going over the finer points of his divorce when he decided to fall asleep.”

Carol’s sucked at her teeth, cringing at the idea of Michonne having to listen to some drunk man ramble about his romantic failings. Michonne shook her head at the face she was making, continuing as she told her, “It was actually nice. I told him about my breakup and we kind of got to shit on the world together.”

“That’s a nice visual,” Daryl murmured, placing his hands beneath Rick’s arms to hoist him up from the floor. Moving him around, not trying at all to be careful of keeping Rick’s body from jostling, finally stirred the man to consciousness.

“Where am I?” he mumbled, wiping his face against Daryl’s vest.

“Goin’ home,” Daryl answered. He looked to Carol as he said it, watching what he thought was slight disappointment fall across her face. Fixed the spot, he didn’t make any turn to move as he stared at her. Mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure of what move to make.

“No wait!” Rick cried out, his eyes finally fully opened and bewildered. “I can’t leave with her number!”

“Is he talking about me?” Michonne looked to Carol, her hands flying up to her cheeks that were growing warm. “I can’t give him my number! What if he calls me?”

“I think that’s the point,” Carol said through her teeth.

“Do I want him to do that?” Michonne asked her.

Rick scrunched his eyebrows, head whipping to look at Daryl as he asked with his hot and sticky breath, “Why wouldn’t she want me to?”

“I don’t know, do you?” Carol challenged, pursing her lips together to stave off the laughter that bubbled to break from her.

“You should see yourself,” Daryl barely whispered to him, as it was loud enough for Carol to hear which only made her hold her lips tighter together.

“I do!” Michonne exclaimed, before leaning into Carol and attempting to lower her voice, “But I can’t remember mine, so you’ll have to give him yours.”

Carol nodded, lips pulling to a sly smile as she plucked a pen from a magnet on the fridge. Walking towards Daryl, she didn’t miss the way his throat swallowed as she neared him. She pointed towards his hand with the cap of the pen, and he offered it to her. Taking his hand in hers she wrote down seven digits.

“We’re free on Tuesdays, after six thirty, and we’ve been meaning to try that new Tex Mex grill in town.”

The only part of him that could function was his neck, and so he managed to nod towards her. The corner of his lips begged for him to smile but he knew if he let his stoic expression break then there’d be no return and Rick would cease to be the biggest embarrassment to the room.

A stifled cackle escaped Michonne as Carol guided her out the door. She looked back once, and when they locked eyes Daryl felt that same soothing he had when they were outside. He closed his hand into a fist, trying to wrap himself around the number she left him with as best he could.

Her eyes crinkled just slightly, her cheeks pushing up as she flicked her eyes between his face and his hand. Mimicking her when she mouthed a soft goodbye, Daryl watched their figures retreat from the room until he couldn’t anymore.

Rick jolted beside him, consciousness having slipped from him in the last two minutes. “Are we home yet?”

“Sure does feel like it, huh?” he said absently, ignoring the confused look he got from the Sheriff. He walked forward, dragging Rick along with him, knowing that keeping himself collected until Tuesday was going to be near impossible. But, he had memories of the shine of her eyes and the quirk of his lips to carry him through the next four days and somehow he knew that even that small bit of her would be enough.  

 


	6. Marol/& Sharol (Merle/Carol & Shane/Carol)

AU 6: **Marol/Sharol (Merle x Carol and Shane x Carol)**

_I was sitting in the park trying to read and your football knocked me out._

* * *

 

It was one of those surprise spring days that happen in the middle of a cold March that makes everyone want to take advantage before the dreariness and blistering winds take over again. The sky was lit with such bright blues and puffy clouds that made Carol crave cotton candy. After walking her daughter to spend the day at her best friend’s house, she had this beautiful, sunny day all to herself. She could, in fact, go hunt down some of that cotton candy, but on the walk back to her house she passed the park.

More people were hanging around in it than she could ever remember being there (probably because she didn’t often pay attention). It was made of grassy hills, lots of trees just beginning to bud in the early throes of spring, and now dotted with picnic blankets, running dogs, and flying Frisbees. She had a book in her purse (as usual) and felt its weight seem to pull her towards a bench sitting in a perfectly sunny spot at the bottom incline of one of the small hills.

The book had great heft, a chunky historical romance that she’d been dying to sink her teeth into but hadn’t had the time yet. She opened the first page, felt the shiny cover bend with a crisp delight and held back from stuffing her face into the page and take a long whiff of the novel. The sound of laughter and idle chatter filled her ears as she relaxed into the bench, bringing the book up to begin reading.

Just over the top of the pages she spied an interesting, but not unwelcome, sight. Two men, with brash faces and sculpted arms, decided to play catch with a football atop what she started to think of as _her_ hill. She thought one of them smiled at her, their lips crooked and roguish, but she couldn’t quite tell from the distance they were at. Still, she held a quiet appreciation as she gave them a long gaze, shrugging as she decided not to care about them and just wanting to get lost in the comical errors of Regency society.

The first time the ball came near her it bounced of the green grass of the hill, rolling precariously until it reached the edge of her bench. Their whistles pierced through her reading, although she’d only been perusing the words at that point, watching the football through her peripheral. Carol looked up, pretending not to have noticed and the surlier one smiled at her and pointed to the ball that lay at her feet. She picked it up, an innocent gesture of her shoulder wordlessly asking if they wanted her to throw it back. The younger one came bounding down the hill, ready to get it from her when he stopped at the way she rose from the bench with graceful purpose.

She tossed the ball in the air, catching it between her hands and testing out its weight. Positioning her fingers along the laces, Carol pulled her arm back, letting it sail towards the closer of the two. He side stepped to the right just enough to catch it squarely at his chest. He tossed her a crooked smile, laughing through his nose as he rubbed his head with his free hand, jogging back to his friend who was clapping and whistling. Carol pretended to curtsey, feeling pretty confident as she picked up her book, settling back into the bench and into the world of high society drama.

The second time, Carol hadn’t noticed until it was almost too late, finding herself so lost in the complications of country dancing and the protagonist being ignored by the newest bachelor in town. It wasn’t the ball that was barreling towards her this time but one of the men, his dirtied white t-shirt a blur of wide shoulders and muscled arms as he stopped short just inches away from toppling over her. She looked up at him, shocked from his sudden appearance retching her from the 19th century and into the present.

“Sorry,” he said, his accent heavy with a kind of sarcasm that let her know this wasn’t exactly an accident.

“It’s fine,” she retorted with a thin smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her flushed face and breathless heaving as she controlled her features into a neutral expression.

He sucked at his lip, making a clicking nose as he shook his head, “Alright.” He left her tossing the ball carelessly in the other man’s direction, his hands rubbing his head even more vigorously than before.

Again, Carol lost herself in the book. It was this particular feeling that made her love books the most, just the way that they wrapped around her until the world melted away and she was surrounded by nothing but the fictional world and characters and events. She could immerse into a book so fully that it was almost dangerous.

She didn’t notice the shouting right away, her brain chocking it up to the background noise she was imagining as the heroine of the book was fighting with the young and snobby bachelor that denied her a dance. The frantic waving as two bodies zoomed closer to her was completely missed as her eyes darted hungrily across the ink on the pages, forming the words into pictures that engulfed her.

It wasn’t until the very grating, irritating shout of “Hey, _LADY!_ ” that she finally looked up. Instead of seeing the guys playing football as she expected, there was a brown object entirely too close to her face and moving too fast for her to stop its impending impact.

It didn’t hurt as much as it looked like it would, or at least she didn’t think it did as the world went black.

When she finally came around the first thing she noticed was a distinct smell. Motor oil and cigarettes. Her eyes fluttered open to see the surly face staring down at her, his jaw squarer than most as he leaned in closer to inspect her.

“Hey you alright? Can you hear me in there? How many fingers I got holding up?” his voice was rough and angular as he shouted at her, as if he was unsure if the impact had made her lose her hearing.  His face was so close to hers that Carol couldn’t see how many fingers he had up even if she wanted to, only seeing the piercing blue of his eyes and the barely shaved stubble growing on his ruddy cheeks. She scrunched her nose instinctually, wincing as she did.

“Aw, now don’t go on doing that, sugar,” he smiled at her.

“Carol,” she corrected him, her voice slightly hoarse. She tried to sit up but her head spun too fast and she continued to lay on what she could only assume was the gravel path in front of the bench.

“Let ol’ Merle help you,” the man insisted, who she now assumed was named Merle (and would have found it odd that he had referred to himself in third person if her head wasn’t still pounding) and took one of her hand in his, but he stopped at that, just holding her hand as what sounded like a galloping horse came closer.

“Took you damn long enough!” Merle shouted, his friend dropping to his knees when he joined them.

“Ma’am, my name is Shane Walsh and I’m a police officer. I ran down to the 7-Eleven on the corner and got you some ice, is it okay if I apply it to your nose?” he spoke in a commanding tone, and she tried not to be offended by the way he said _ma’am_ , as she was some victim and he hadn’t been the cause to her exact dilemma.

“I can do it Shane, just hand it over,” Merle reached his hand out expectantly, but Shane ignored him, focusing on Carol’s bruised nose.

“I have training in this Dixon, it’s best I do it,” he held the ice up, bringing it closer to Carol’s face.

“I was here first and she already trusts me, don’t you sweetheart?” he winked at her, following Shane’s hand with his own.

“It’s fine,” Shane said, rolling his shoulder to try and brush Merle off. He laid his hand gently at the back of Carol’s neck, supporting her head in preparation for the ice.

“I can do it!” Merle insisted, and Carol felt his other hand squeeze hers tightly as he was becoming more frustrated. The outstretched fingers of his other hand brushed against Shane’s arms, trying to knock him off course.

“Gimme that!” Merle eventually shouted from frustration, grabbing the ice from Shane’s hand, but the officer’s grip was tight.

“I said _I’d_ apply it to her nose, not let my dumbass-good-for-nothing friend do it.”

“Good for nothing?” Merle’s eyes narrowed to slits, gasping as he stuttered in anger, their hands both sharing the baggy full of ice. “Who wasn’t standing where they were supposed to?”

“ _You_ weren’t _supposed_ to throw it that hard. What were you trying to do knock _me_ out?” Shane retorted, and it was at this point in their verbal wrestling that Carol figured they weren’t paying much attention to her at all. She reached forward, gently loosening the ice from their grip. When she did, Merle poked his cold finger in Shane’s chest, the pair continuing to argue over who was the one that deserved to help her.

Their grips on her remained steady if not slightly increasing in pressure as they continue to shout.

“Hey!” she said, when she started to fear that they might rip her apart. It stopped them long enough to look down at their hands and realize the ice was missing. Their heads both jerked towards her to finally notice she had managed to put the ice to her nose all by herself. She smirked at them from behind the ziplock bag, cocking her head to the side.

“Now,” she said, her voice nasally from the swelling and muffled by the plastic, “the easier way would have just been to say hello.”

Carol tried not to laugh at the crimson blush that overtook both of their faces. They tried to cover it up with suave laughter, flicking their hands at her as if she didn’t know what she was talking about.

“But if you _really_ want to make it up to me,” she said slyly, moving the ice off to give her cold fingers a break, “One of you would go and find me some cotton candy.”

In a flash they both stood, almost stumbling over her and each other as they both started to run out of the park. Merle even tried to side check Shane out of the way, but that police academy training made him just _slightly_ more agile. Carol watched them go with a smirk, making her back onto the bench and stretching her legs out across it, her book back in her hands and the promise of cotton candy leaving a smile on her lips.

 

 


	7. Cabin (Carol/Tobin)

AU 7 **:** **Cabin (Carol x Tobin)**

_You’re moving into my apartment building and your couch is lodged in the stairwell – let me help_

* * *

 

When he used to think about how life would be when he was 45, the last thing Tobin ever envisioned was divorced, living in a co-op in the urban sprawl of Washington, D.C., and back to working overtime in the construction business. His back ached just thinking about the week he had just endured, and even the black coffee he was sipping did little to ease his exhaustion. Staring out the window, eyes unfocused on the moving van park out on the street, he wondered where to go from here.

Literally, he wasn’t going anywhere. His knees were somehow stiff and slippery at the same time, so his big weekend plans were to sit on his hand-me-down sofa with an ice pack and maybe the Stephen King book his son had bought him for Christmas. It was his weekend off, the kids were with their mother in the house he had bought with her and lived in for 23 years of marriage. A marriage he always labeled as blissful, never for one second thinking she was unhappy until one night several short months ago when she emerged from their newly renovated bathroom, tears streaming down her face as her fingers clutched a small white stick. He didn’t even have a chance to feel any kind of elation as the first words that slipped from her mouth were that it wasn’t his. So now every other weekend he didn’t have to do anything but be an old man in a lonely apartment, with joints that pulsated with pain and a mind that never stopped racing.

He itched for the first time in a long time for a cigarette. A habit he had given up at least a decade ago, but the back of his throat started to burn for that nicotine fix as he eyed the convenience store across the street. It’d be incredibly easy to slip in and grab a pack, even to just smoke one cigarette and maybe find a minute or two of reprieve. He pulled on his plaid jacket, ready to go before his conscience broke in and tried to talk him out of it.

When he pulled the door shut behind him he stopped short. Diagonally from his apartment was a little girl he didn’t recognize, standing in the doorway of apartment 3C with a doll clutched tightly to her chest. He smiled at her, trying to be friendly in passing and continued to the stairwell, but found he was blocked. The arm of a couch protruded in the narrow passage, yellowed and frayed in several spots, and completely stuck in its journey up the staircase.

The faint sound of grunting came from the other end of the couch, down at the bottom of the second floor landing. Tobin turned to the little girl, then back to the couch. “This yours?” he asked, pointing at the yellow monstrosity. She nodded, her eyes widening as she let a small smile take over her freckled face.

“Sorry,” he heard a voice say, breathless and light, but dripping with a tiredness he recognized all too well. He peered down the side of the stairwell that the back of the couch was pressed against, finally spying the woman trying to push it up all by herself.

She looked as exhausted as she sounded, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead with the white sleeve of her blouse. “I didn’t expect the delivery guys to bail on me at exactly noon. Thought they’d stick around, be gentlemen ~~s~~ or something.” She was muttering her words and he wasn’t exactly sure if they were directed at him or not.

Still, he discarded his jacket, rolling the sleeves of a nearly identical plaid button up he had on underneath, and fit a hand between the back of the couch and the wall.

“This going to 3C?” he asked, getting in position to lift.

“What? No, I’ve got it. It’s fine,” She said, still catching her breath and not as ready to go as he was.

He straightened up, eyeing the length of the couch until it led to her. She was beautiful, despite being harried by the moving situation, and the way the sunlight caught her grey hair made her look other worldly like some kind of ethereal creature he’d like to know more about. Something warmed inside of him and he didn’t think it was the exertion from the one squat he’d just done.

“It wouldn’t be very neighborly of me to just let you carry this up by yourself.  Plus I’m pretty sure you’re violating the fire code,” he said, getting back into position to lift the couch.

Her eyes snapped to him, blazing as she finally looked at him, a thorough gaze that locked his eyes to hers. She smiled, her lids squinting as she took him in. “Are you screwing with me?”

“No,” he said, trying to hide his own smile but failing.

She eyed him as she followed his lead, fitting her hands around couch’s edges and trying to push as he pulled, but the thing didn’t budge. They tried again for several more seconds, accomplishing about three inches of movement, but at that rate they’d need another day or so to get it to the apartment.

“Wait a minute,” Tobin said, lowering the couch and running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face. “Knock on 2A. It’s alright, go on. Just knock.”

She screwed her face into a suspicious look, but moved a few steps down the corridor and knocked on the appropriate door. A handsome and polished man answered it. “Hi, my name is Carol and I’m just moving in—”

“Aaron!” Tobin yelled down the stairwell, interrupting Carol’s introduction. “Give us a hand?”

“Of course!” Aaron waved up at Tobin, before smiling at Carol and shaking her hand, offering his own introduction and welcome. He yelled into his apartment, his boyfriend Eric emerging to join them.

At the same time, Tobin knocked on the apartment door neighboring his own, explaining the situation to the woman that lived there and soon Olivia had joined them as well. With their combined efforts they had pulled the couch into apartment 3C, identical to their own but it had a glow of newness inside of it, accented by the afternoon sun.

“Thank you all so much,” Carol said once the couch was settled, her face flushed and red. Her daughter promptly jumped onto it, not minding the mustard yellow fabric as she settled against its cushions. “Can I get any of you something? I think I have some bottles of water stashed in the fridge.”

They shook their heads at her offer, but not before welcoming her with kind words and an invitation by Aaron and Eric to join them for pasta night that following Sunday. She smiled at them as they left, one by one filing out except for Tobin. He lingered in the doorway, something keeping him caught there.

“Tobin, right?” Carol asked before she scrunched her nose in embarrassment, “Sorry, I heard Olivia call you that.”

“I’ve got some lemonade at my place,” he said suddenly, bursting with a need to linger as long as possible. “I can bring it over. Something sweet to go along with unpacking.”

“Oh, so you don’t mind helping with that, too?” she smiled at him, scratching at her nose as her eyes glinted shamelessly.

Tobin raced back to his apartment, forgetting about the cigarettes and the loneliness and his achy knees. He had something to look forward too, even if it was only the gutsy flirtations of a woman he knew nothing about. She seemed tenacious and delicate, kind and bold, and like she was made up of all the things he was too afraid to be. He wanted to know what forged her into that, and maybe if he tried hard enough he could be like that too. He grabbed the pitcher of lemonade, which was admittedly too sour for his taste, but was large enough to last them into whatever hour this night took them into.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! If there's any ship (keep it Carol or Michonne related for now) or prompt you'd like to see leave me a comment :D


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